Cloudy Days
by TranceGemini613
Summary: *Summary Updated!* The story of Morgana's last days with her father, Gorlois, before he died in battle under King Uther Pendragon, and of her arrival at Camelot as ward of the King. Please R&R, thank you for reading!
1. Hotcakes Ahead

**A/N: Disclaimer saying I don't own these characters, I just take them out to play sometimes, thanks for the loan BBC, and hope you enjoy the story. That is all. :)

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The windswept hills spread out, a pale, mossy grey-green in the dim sunlight. The clouds filtered out all the brightness, dulling the days to twilight in their finest hour. A stone cross with a Celtic knot design carved across the center towered over the crossroads. The manor was not much further along the road. The little girl squirmed in her seat atop the small horse, whom she had named "Peat" because he was a dark brown like the peat from the bogs after it was dried. He was really more pony than horse--his stature put one in mind of a miniature of a "real" horse. She squirmed again, turning to see if her father was behind her. The guard ahead of them took no notice.

"Father! Look ahead, Da, look! We're nearly home!" she exclaimed.

Her father smiled. "Yes, Morgana, very nearly. I imagine Cook has some hotcakes waiting for you. She knows how you love them."

Morgana smiled broadly, her eyes sparkling. Upon first notice it was difficult to discern just what about the child was so striking. At age ten she was shaping up to be a real beauty someday, with long dark curls and a smile that melted every heart around her. She was smart as well, intelligent enough to express herself and her often strong and stubbornly-held opinions clearly and with passion. It was her eyes, however, that drew the eye of onlookers. Her right eye was a soft blue with flecks of a glinting violet, and her left was green with spots of gold.

So unusual were her eyes that a sooth-sayer, not much more than a local witch doctor (who claimed descent from a powerful clan of Druids), commented not long after Morgana's birth, "She will have the Sight, just you wait, Lord Gorlois." Thus far it had not come to pass that Morgana exhibited any outward signs of magical ability. For this Gorlois was secretly relieved as his Majesty King Uther Pendragon, whom Gorlois served faithfully, had a well-known hatred for any and all doers of magic, seers of prophecy and any Druids who had somehow survived the scourges of Britons and Saxons. Nearly ten years earlier Uther defeated the last great Dragon and trapped the poor creature in a cavern beneath the castle at Camelot. Any with magical ability hid it now, or fled the kingdom. This hatred of sorcery extended well into the Eireann hills where Gorlois' castle was situated.

Within a short while of Morgana's exchange with her father, their home loomed into view. The manor was, typical of the area, built from local stones. More a gloomy keep than a house, Morgana's late mother (about whom Gorlois never spoke) had attempted to keep the manor cheerfully decorated in bright tapestries (which kept out the cold) and fresh flowers (which hid the scent of mustiness).

"Da, may I ride ahead? Please may I?" the child implored. Her father peered at the gate, which was lowered in anticipation of his return.

"I don't see why not, my dear, but do remember to stop Peat before he runs down any of the servants this time?"

Morgana laughed at the memory and nodded. "I'll be more careful!" she tossed over her shoulder, nudging Peat with her heels. "G'yap!"

"I hope..." Gorlois whispered, "I hope that she never grows into a sorceress." Why the old seer's vision should suddenly accost him he did not know. He had nearly forgotten it entirely until that moment.

Over supper, Gorlois entertained Morgana with tales of the battle he was going to fight in the coming weeks. The Druids were gathering forces and some local chieftans still held loyalties to them.

"When you come back I can ride out to greet you as I did today, can't I, Da?" Morgana asked eagerly. "And you'll raise the standard and shout, 'For Albion, for Camelot!', won't you?"

"Indeed I will, child," he answered.

"But...what will happen to the Druids?"

Gorlois' smile drooped slightly. "What do you mean, my dear?"

"Well, are you going to kill them _all_? Wipe them right off the island of Eireann?"

Her father's face now took on an entirely more serious countenance. "Yes, child."

"But...why can't King Uther just outlaw their magic? Does he need to kill _everyone_? What about their children? Are there girls and boys he'll kill? Children just like me?"

Now her father was concerned, and his dark eyes were sad. "Morgana, you're too young to think of these things. Please...don't trouble yourself. Magic-users are evil and they plot the downfall of our kingdom. We mustn't think that just outlawing their wicked ways will stop them. All of them have to die. That isn't a concern for you, my child. Think of the glory of our coming victories."

Morgana grew silent. Her father knew that she was brooding over the fate of the Druids. He knew better than to interrupt her contemplation, so instead he quietly motioned over Morgana's nurse, Melia. "Make sure that she gets to bed, won't you? I've some correspondence to attend to, but I'll check in on Morgana in a bit."

"Yes, my Lord," Melia answered, and Gorlois nodded and swept up to his chambers to brood for himself.


	2. Bedtime Story

For the next two weeks, Gorlois and Morgana were uneasy with each other. An air of discontent permeated the household, irritating the warrior. He never knew whether he'd return from battle, and he hated that he and his daughter were not on good terms. He would sooner run himself through than leave her with less than absolute adoration in her heart.

Resultantly, Morgana grew even more distant, sensing that her father was upset with her--though she was perceptive enough to realize that it was not anger with which he regarded his only child. After nearly a fortnight of this silence between them, Gorlois sat down to supper and addressed her.

"Morgana, love, methinks we should discuss what's troubling us. Each should speak. Would you like to go first?"

The pair had surprisingly good communication. A year after Morgana's birth, so the story went, her mother, Eileen, took very ill. On her deathbed, King Uther had called for the woman to be treated by his physicians in Camelot, but the long journey was simply too much for the woman. She died on the road to the ships at Ath-cliath. Since then, completely broken by the death of his life's love, Gorlois swore to raise his daughter as his wife would have wanted: with sincerity, openness of heart and mind, and the ability to tell one another everything.

"Yes, Da," his daughter replied. _So mature for her age_, he thought admiringly--but then, she was her mother's daughter in every respect. "I feel sad when I think of the poor Druid children--and their mams and das. They're going to have to die because of something they can't control. You told me once that magic chooses its vessels, not the other way around. So then, if they do not choose to have these abilities, why do they have to die? It doesn't seem right. You've always told me that King Uther is a good and noble man, and that he looks out for his people's best interests, but I don't see how this is good or noble or any better than a warlord killing everyone for his own wants."

The outpouring of derision for the King surprised Gorlois somewhat, but he didn't feel that now was the right time to imply to his child that her statements were treasonous. He nodded slowly.

"I see what you are saying, Morgana, and...I have been thinking on this for this past fortnight. You make some very good points. Unfortunately, to deny the King in his request for my help would be tantamount to betraying him. I have already pledged my support and my armies to him. How can I withdraw that without giving Uther a reason to turn his military on us?"

Morgana's countenance flitted between puzzlement and consideration. "I hadn't thought of it like that," she said.

"You see, child, there are many things to consider when making military decisions. There is no other way to keep magic from growing--from the users growing in number--than to exterminate it. Distasteful though it may be, it is the only way."

"Wasn't our ancestor a Druid?" Morgana asked suddenly.

Gorlois' face for an instant was shocked, and then he hid it in a mask of concentrated, feigned confusion. "Not that I can say, my dear--where did you get the idea that we have Druid in our family lines?"

"From Melia," replied his daughter, unphased. Melia, Morgana's wet-nurse, had been handmaiden to Eileen before Morgana's birth, and had a daughter about four or five years older than Morgana herself. Though Morgana was rapidly becoming too old to need a nurse, the woman was adept at a thousand little chores, and Faye, her daughter, would fetch a fair dowry when she married. For these reasons, Gorlois kept the woman in his household; after this rumour, however, he thought he might reconsider that particular charitable act.

"Melia must have misheard someone," Gorlois answered her, "For we are Eireann men--and women--to the last."

Morgana thought about this for a moment and nodded. "She must be mistaken. But what of the Druids, then, Da?"

Gorlois sighed softly. "I do not know their fate. I am no soothsayer. I will...I will attempt to speak of this to King Uther when next I see him. I am to attend him at Ui Faelain in three days. Perhaps we can discuss it then. I wish to know his mind fully on the subject, and as he trusts me with his life, I would that he might trust me with his mind as well."

This discussion broke the ice, and Gorlois and Morgana were able to return to their usual jocundity that night.

Unusual due to his pressing duties, Gorlois was able to see Morgana to bed that night. She had a large room with high ceilings and a huge four-poster bed. Her tick was stuffed with fine goosedown. Gorlois had won it in battle, a spoil of war many years past, when Morgana was but three or four years old. Her bedchamber was her favorite place in the castle, even better than the warm kitchen hearth.

Morgana sat up in bed, reading her letters off of a scrap of vellum she'd cajoled out of a merchant who had stopped at their home a week earlier. For a child, and a girl, she was certainly well-educated; Gorlois saw to that. He wanted his little girl to grow into a lady who would be good for more than a pretty face to decorate a warlord's bed.

"Da, when did you say you were leaving for Ui Faelain? Three days, was it?"

"Yes, love," her father said.

"All right. Will you," she began, changing the subject, "tell me the story about my birth and the soothsayer again?"

Her father scratched his dark beard. Morgana got her hair color from him, but the waves came from her mother's side.

"I suppose I could drum up some enthusiasm," he answered with a twinkle in his eye. "It was a dark and stormy eve--"

"Da!" Morgana interrupted, giggling, "You're making that up! 'Twas a bright, sunny summer afternoon!"

"Ah, so it was!" He pretended to be surprised at his "mistake". "Well, then, I guess there are no spirits in this tale, it being so sunny."

"But there is a soothsayer!" Morgana insisted.

With a chuckle, Gorlois continued his story, embellishing a bit here and there. By the time he finished, Morgana looked up at him through heavily-lidded eyes, nearly asleep.

"Da, I'm glad you'll talk to King Uther," she murmured.

"Anything for you, child," he whispered, kissing her forehead.

Outside the window, the moon rose silently, lighting the courtyard dimly.

Perhaps there was someone watching this touching scene between father and daughter. Perhaps it was a trick of the light through the trees.


End file.
